The Fallen God
by Gideon Ravenor
Summary: A ancient C'tan is trapped under Hydratus, the Imperial Gaurd sit on top of a tomb complex where they have unknowingly awoke the Necrontyr from stasis. Ancient debts will be paid and the dreaded Inquition will come into play to stop a God from rising to start a bloody harvest on the galaxy.
1. Chapter 1

The holo-candles were kept dim, though the occupants neither knew nor cared, since their eyes have long since been burned from their sockets. The aroma and fog of harsh incense clouded the chamber, the scratching of a dozen servitors and the gentle hum of machinery were the only sounds.

The servitors sat facing one another in two rows, hunched over gnarled wooden lecterns, ink-stained quill-fingers darted back and forth across parchment as information poured into what remained of their minds and into their calloused hands. Behind each servitor stood an angled, curved pod, sparkling like a gleaming coffin. Golden wires trailed from each ones frosted surface and ribbed cables snaked from their sides, running in long lines along the chambers edge.

A hunched figure, swathed in red robes of the machine priests with gold embroidery on the hem made it's way slowly down the stone-flagged nave towards the chambers end, stopping every now and then to view a servitors tome. Shadows clouded the adepts face, only a shimmer of silver was all that was visible beneath it's hood. He stopped beside the furthest servitor and examined the expressionless face of the lobotomised slave, it's figures skipping at irregular beats, he glanced at it's script that was oddly angular and hard to focus on, the words "the fallen god, long forgotten... but still dreaming" written ominously several times amongst the random letters and symbols.

He moved passed the servitor coming to stand beside the golden pod behind it. A coiled bundle of wires trailed from the coffins devices top to a series of neural jacks in the back of the servitors skull.

The adept wiped a black-gloved hand across the glistening sparkling surface of the golden coffin, sending a shower of ice crystals plinking off the floor. The adept stared through the misted glass panel, a young female astrotelepath was shaking and bucking inside the nutrient filled capsule, blood clouding the liquid where tubes and cables had been torn free trailing food and Simms into the nutrient bath. Like the servitor infront of the coffin she was eyeless, her lips moving constantly in a silent whisper sending a thin trail of bubbles to the top of the pod. The message she was receiving was passing through psychically-warded cables to its dancing fingures where the message was being scribbled ominously down the pages, repeating the same message again and again.

The adept removed a small vial of black liquid from beneath his robes,the liquid seemed to form odd shapes and faces through the glass. The adept eased past the girls prison and knelt beside the pulsing bundles of cables stemming from the back of her pod pushing through them till he found a needle tipped tube. He broke the vials seal and slipped the needle in and allowed it to suck every last drop from the vial, careful not to let any of the liquid to touch his person. Satisfied the liquid had entered the circulation system of the pod he stepped back onto the nave infront of the pod and watched as the liquid traveled to every pod in the room. The adept watched as the astropaths started to scream in their pods as the liquid liquified their flesh in seconds, finally the servitors stopped writing.

Before he exited the chamber he took the page with the writing on a fallen

god and made a swift exit, a smile breaking his silver mask as he fled.


	2. Chapter 2

May the Emperor damn Captain Evans soul to the pits of hell thought Guardsman Marcus as he moved closer to the cooling unit which cooled the air in the cramped bunker to being nearly bearable levels. With great elation he imagined shooting the son of a bitch for busting him down to guard duty on the outer plains. One little thing! One bar room brawl with another guardsman that was it! The frakker was the one who stole the cred chip not me! Busted down from his cushy job at the Bastion to this, monitoring the plains for ork kind.

He glanced towards the sensor screens behind him with little interest, that yet again nothing was there or for that fact anywhere on the plains! The orks were destroyed at the mountains and never surfaced again! What a waste of resources he thought. Why any foe, ork or not, would want to attack Bastion is beyond him it's insulting to call it a Bastion, it's little more than four walls and a tower with a city at its feet. Even though it has a gun the size of a titan but still thats not worth attacking it's worth nothing.

He sat inside one of the twenty defence bunkers on the edges of the great plains, cramped and hot with a bloody sand storm outside, Hydratus wasn't the place people chose to go to it was they were forced to go. Emperor alone knows why this world still needs the guard there is nothing here bar rock, desert, grox and a town that smells like grox.

Marcus sat in bunker five, one of the twenty defence stations that asked around the plains and Bastion town and the Machine laboratories in the mountains between them and the 'space port', if it could be called that and not a flat piece of ground, were the only lifelines Hydratus had with the outside world.

It was a terrible detail to be placed on Hydratus and all the guardsmen know it, the coolers barely work and the scouring wind as it blew in from the plains and clattered off the bunker in a constant scraping rattle, between that and the relative inactivity could drive the strongest minds to contemplating shooting themselves, repeatedly with a las rifle just to do something.

He cursed the Captain as imaginatively as he could damning him for his now terrible luck, something the galaxy seemed to enjoy... Screwing him over.

Sure he had had a little bar room brawl, well little being a understatement as it was nearly the full company, not that they had anything else to do it wasn't like they were guarding the Emperor himself or anything. It was purely bad luck that he swung over another trooper and hooked the Captain in the face, suppose it was better than getting caught by the Commissar who would have shot them on the spot so count your blessing is a good way of seeing it.

So here he is, stuck in a metal box with a auto cannon, air cooler and a regicide board for company.

He sat alone twiddling with the settings of his rifle and watching the the sensor boards for a glimmer anything. He rose from the air cooler and stepped towards the viewing slit, laughably big enough to put a rifle out of not that anything could be seen through the billowing clouds of dust, to see if there was anything interesting.

After a few minutes of trying to see through the dense swirl he gave up with a sigh and went to look at the sensor screens to see, to his great amazement, a tiny ping on the sensor, little but still more than nothing. He stepped over to the auto cannon and slipped into the gunner chair and began to rack it up and cycle through the mist trying to find a target. He tapped his vox bead and called into HQ "HQ this is Bunker five of the plains sector, calling in a radar return copy?".

After a few seconds his vox bead returned with grainy static "This is HQ keep eyes on bunker five might just be a ghost copy?".

"Copy that HQ, bunker five out" replied Marcus.

Yeah, ghosts, that's all it'll be nothing has ever happened this will be no different. Turning the gun left and right he swore he saw dull metal amid the dust, just out of the corner of his eye. The storm picked up again and began to batter the bunker yet again, the the quad at the bunkers back was damn near useless in this dust getting all clogged up so I'm stuck here till the storm passes.

Just one thing after a damn thing getting worse and worse!

He supposed that after being chosen on Vostroya he should be used to the hard life, being in the mighty Vostroyan first born he expected to see the galaxy new worlds and people but no, being stuck on this world brought a new meaning to hardship. Besides the Bastion and the laboratory he knew of nothing of note that would require the guard and a full company of armour, but not his place to ask just point and shoot that's all he was payed for.

He turned the turret again and began imagining shooting enemies whispering "boom dead bitch", he had never fired a single shot in three months he was bored and this sensor glimmer was the first interesting thing in weeks.

Yeah, ghosts thats all.

The hunter that was approaching the bunker had been stealthily approach ping for hours to avoid detection, it's eyes cycling through the spectrum to rendering the world a green colour.

It didn't have a name, if it ever did it was a long time ago and now it had no thoughts just electrical impulses coursing along arcane machinery propelling it forwards silently with nought but a shadows in its wake. Each time the sensors would sweep its arcane machinery would force it to freeze and phase out of time till it was safe to move agin.

It's brethren we're spread all the way along the bunker line one for each bunker, silently gliding towards them like spectres. The hunter glided closer to the bunker and registered the threat of the cannon sticking out form the bunkers mouth with a series of clicks as its systems began to warm up for the fight to come. It glided past the bunkers mouth towards the rear entrance and extended its claws, like razor blades of pure silver, from it's arms as it approached the door.

The guardsmen rotated the gun as far as it would go, he was sure he saw something a glimmer something not right. He shook his head and thought just ghosts Emperor damn it snap the hell out of it.

The hunter reached out and it's arcane machinery smashed into the doors console and began to destroy its codes to open the portal. In a few seconds the door slid open, clanking into place.

Marcus snapped around nearly falling from the gunners chair he grabbed for his rifle and brought it up to the door, visibly shaking he stayed still trying to control his bladder. He watched the doorway waiting, nothing moved just dust billowing in and making the air even warmer than before.

The hunter analysed the bunkers insides and apart from the feeble man with his primitive rifle it saw no threats, its programming decided to disable its cloak and it bowed low on its spine-tail and slid into the room. At this point the guardsman visibly lost control of his bowls and stood there quivering, it mattered not it was still prey and the hunter descended on the helpless man like a monster it's claws rising and falling shredding the flak armour of the guardsman to pieces and flinging gore a entrails round the bunker turning it into a charnel house. The hunter rose form the steaming pile of body parts on the floor and looked back and forth before its programming decided to leave and move on, as it swayed back into the dust it came into form fully, a floating spinal column tipped with a skull and thick armour plates across its shoulders. Green wychfire burning in its skull as it drifted of to reap another tally.

In a few minutes the entire plains defence line went silent, not a single distress call was made just silence and a trail of dead bodies where the wraiths of Hydratus had reaped there tally. This was not the first massacre, and it shall not be the last.


End file.
